


ever so slightly (daily and nightly)

by transvav



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fantasy/Kings AU, Forbidden Romance, M/M, a lot of si stuff oop, a secret santa gift. because it's gay., please dont ask what this is it got way out of hand very quickly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 14:12:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16996518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transvav/pseuds/transvav
Summary: jeremy and ryan are two ‘warring’ kings, their kingdoms locked on an everlasting feud that’s lasted for what may have been centuries‒ and gavin, a third party thief who runs as a messenger to the both of them, is waiting for the crowns to topple, his own secrets to protect.but one king’s mage points him in the direction of a long since forgotten alcove in the garden outside the border, and when he catches the enemy kings in a moment of soft adoration for one another, things slip quickly out of hand, and none of them can stop themselves from getting tangled in the unforeseen aftermath.





	ever so slightly (daily and nightly)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluebismuth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebismuth/gifts).



> MERRY CHRYSLER ABERRY!!! a secret santa gift for the RT writers discord for my good friend avery :3c
> 
> if you don't know who some of the people are, it's because they're self-inserts and ocs and i'm hungree

Ryan is not at war.

Ryan is not at war, _yet._

His advisors scuttle around the throne hall, doing their best to, well, advise him, desperate to get his attention and approval on the new policies, on the new ideas and strategies‒ their voices drown into one, long slow monotony, and Ryan slumps further into the throne. Adriel jumps up beside him, lounging languidly on the arm rest, purring her quiet comforts and speaking to him the way she always had, in quiet softness and in their mind alone.

_Slow going,_ his friend’s familiar says. _It will end_.

_It never ends,_ he responds, _and nothing changes. Day after day after year, nothing changes._

Adriel purrs louder and butts her head against his hand in response, but says nothing in turn as a messenger approaches.

“Free,” Ryan says as he approaches, sitting up further and composing himself. “What is it this time?”

The messenger bows his head in greeting, and passes a note over, it’s yellowed paper a sore sight on Ryan’s eyes, and the dark wax seal even worse to see. Ryan can only sigh and thank the foreigner with a few coins from his pocket‒ an advisor who spots this hisses, but Free is already through the double doors and no doubt dashing across the courtyard to avoid any wrath.

It’s Dooley’s seal, he knows, the imprint on the wax ingrained in the back of his mind like a curse. Another proclamation from the other king’s advisors, no doubt, demands upon demands to add to a list of a never to be made treaty between the two.

Adriel mewls softly, and jumps to his shoulders as he pulls a knife from his belt and cuts the letter open, preparing for something he knows he won’t be able to give.

 

_In Address To the Highness James Ryan Haywood,_

_We, the representatives and advisors to the Highness Jeremy Nicholas Dooley, list below the previously discussed terms of a potential treaty, and explain the issues we take with your additions and subtractions from the former draft. In the first instance of disagreement..._

 

Jeremy’s favorite advisor tugs on his sleeve, gently, so not as to startle him.

He startles anyways, but the advisor only grins sheepishly, and gestures towards the front of the library. “King Haywood‒”

“Haywood’s advisors,” Jeremy cuts her off, and she bites her lip with a quiet flinch. Jeremy feels bad, for a second‒ this advisor is young, but clever, and truly the only one in the castle working _with_ him to fix this problem. He doesn’t mean to go off like this, but it’s not Haywood who’s doing this, and it’s not Jeremy who’s doing it either. It’s the advisors, the ones from before, who were taught by the ones before _them_ that the feud was unfixable. This advisor‒ Grace‒ is breaking the cycle, and the elder ones hate her for it, so Jeremy tends to keep her closer and lean on her word more. “I’m sorry,” he says and gestures for her to continue.

“Haywood’s advisors have responded, and... not in kind, by the look on Free’s face.”

“The look on Free’s face is nothing to go by,” he gently chastises. “The messenger shouldn’t have read the letter.”

“Never, your majesty,” Free says quietly at the door, and Jeremy smiles gently, but knows it looks strained. Free steps up with a short head bow, and hands the king the scroll‒ he moves to back away, but Jeremy holds up a hand.

“Don’t leave yet, please,” the king says, and Free nods slowly, skittish as he is.

Jeremy opens the letter with the knife on his belt, letting his fingers glide gently over the carved onyx handle as he placed it back in it’s sheath. As he reads, his mood drops low, and Free starts fidgeting quietly with a ring on a chain around his neck, obviously nervous that he’ll be facing the wrath. Grace smiles reassuringly towards him, but Jeremy can tell it does nothing for the poor man‒ Free’s taller, yes, but Jeremy’s got a sword and knows damn well how to use it.

“Please calm down,” Jeremy says gently, folding the letter and handing it to Grace. “I’m not planning to harm the messenger, despite the message he gives.”

Free laughs shakily, ducking his head. “I shouldn’t... I didn’t think you would,” he says in return. “I’m just of a weak hearted nature, your majesty. Naturally anxious.”

Jeremy laughs too, and passes Free a small pouch of gold coins. “For your services and troubles,” he tells him with a grin. “All the years‒ for a neutral party, you’re a good man. I’d hate to see you caught between the swords of the two of us.”

Free is silent, for a moment, before he smiles tightly at the king. “It’s out of our hands, I suppose. If war is to come, so be it. I’m nothing but the messenger.”

Jeremy’s smile drops a little as Free bows and takes his leave, the doors shutting behind him softly.

“He’s too serious,” the king says. “A simple messenger, but he’s so resigned to dying in a war not yet started‒ is it that unavoidable?”

Grace grimaces. “I don’t think so,” she says, and Jeremy sighs.

“You may be the only one who believes it. Please have Free return to me when he’s rested‒ I have another negotiation to write.”

Grace places a hand on his shoulder sympathetically, and slips out of the room as quickly as Free had. Jeremy goes to a desk, and strikes up a flame onto the lantern oil. He picks up a quill and pulls out the ink, and then, for a while, there is silence, save for the scratching of the tip against parchment.

 

_My reaper,_

_I fear the countries are unsalvageable from the brink they have been brought to‒ the impending war upon us all is expected by the people, now, who gear themselves for the battle. The harpy, too, is dejected and resigned, and I worry that we’ll lose him, as well as each other. If there is something in the woods, I beg it comes and takes the gold from power‒ perhaps then, my love, we can confide together again in the thorns of the rose._

_-Your dragon_

 

Ryan reads the new negotiation again, and again, and again, but god forbid him if he can’t focus on it. Another, much more important letter sits unread in his pocket, short enough to have been tucked away in the negotiation’s envelope as well, and Ryan has kept it hidden well enough.

No one but him can see this letter, and no one but him deserves to.

As soon as the meeting is supposedly over, he excuses himself, brushing past everyone possible in his rush‒ Avery catches him gently in the halls by the arm, concern written all over their face before he pulls the small parchment from his pocket, and they let him go.

The second his door closes, Ryan lights a candle, running his fingers over every word reverently, and choking on emotions.

But gods, he misses Jeremy.

The war puts a strain on them‒ on the both of them‒ the relationship, their love, survives in a time of what would be fierce hatred between them.

The garden and ruins are the only sanctity of peace the two of them have together, and it feels as if it’s been months since he’s been there with his love.

Adriel curls on the table near the candlelight, watching with sharp eyes. _Soon?_ they ask gently, and Ryan’s hand shakes as he picks up the quill to dip it into the inkpot again.

“Sooner than usual.”

 

The king’s mage‒ Avery, he remembers‒ passes Gavin a letter in the morning, with a bag of coin and an apologetic smile.

“He’d like to apologize for the suddenness‒ it’s incredibly urgent. He would have let you rest, but...”

“I understand,” Gavin says, and he says it with a smile, but there’s a tired pit at the bottom of his stomach. He _needed_ the rest. “I’ll deliver it straight away.”

“If possible, he needs it done within the day. Straight to King Dooley, himself. No prying eyes.”

Gavin pauses. Something in Avery’s eyes is sharp, the importance not lost on him‒ but there’s something hesitant too, something that makes him curious.

“Why‒”

“Don’t,” Avery whispers. “I’m in no place to say, but‒ you deserve to know. I think you could help change things.”

“In what _way_ ,” Gavin asks, tone just as hushed. “I’m just a messenger!”

“I’ve met your twin, Gavin,” Avery murmurs with a grin. “There’s much more to the both of you than messenger and thief.”

Gavin’s mouth goes dry as he takes the note. “What do you suggest I do?”

“There’s a garden in the center of the north forest. Find it, tomorrow night, when the moon is highest. You’ll see the truth.” Avery’s smile turns a little grim, and they turn away. “It really does rest on you, you know.”

Gavin is suddenly alone, and he does not understand a thing, but he turns to deliver the letter to King Dooley and swears to himself he’ll ask Kota to help him find the garden.

The moon is full that night.

 

Kota had told Gavin about the will-o-wisps, and the forget me nots, the petals and leaves that littered the path towards the forgotten garden. They smile knowingly when he brings it up and only offer a general direction and a few choice flowers. “The roses,” they say to him, “are the key. They’re a gateway, almost, a protection. You’ll know.”

He does know. Against the moon and starlight, the roses are _glowing,_ purple and blue, and Gavin is content to just listen to their whispers. It’s magic of the highest degree, he knows. But the kings are beyond and‒ Well.

Avery wasn’t kidding when they said he’d see the truth. No prying eyes.

The warring kings are in love, and now, Gavin _knows_. What was Avery’s plan here‒ were they expecting him to break them up? To keep their secret? To know, and understand, and help them reunite in the public eye?

The love between them is palpable, thick, fogging the air with sparks and stars and Gavin feels a sudden _pull_ to be a part of it‒ to capture the magic in the air in a jar and let it light up his home.

He sits against the wall and listens to the conversation‒ the soft words between them, the hum and gentleness in their voice‒ and curls into his knees and smiles. The lands are only in danger if their advisors were to ever overthrow the kings, he understands. And as far as it all goes, as far as the eyes of anyone else will see, there’s not a chance of it happening.

“ _I love you,_ ” King Dooley says quietly, the roses echoing the lilt in his voice along.

“ _I love you more,_ ” King Haywood responds in kind, and Gavin can hear their smiles.

He falls asleep there, in the rose bushes, listening to the voices of two kings who are so in love, and can do nothing about it.

 

Kota finds him in the morning. Neither of them notice the buds along the new rose vines.

 

_My dragon,_

_I must insist, again, we meet by the gardens‒ my clever friend tells me there is importance in the coming days, and our land’s fate depends on our consistent engagements. Speaking of, engagement‒ I hope there is a day in which I can hand you a ring that you deserve and call you my entire own, in law and in love and in the eyes of everyone we have known. Your mockingbird friends are free to attend, and naturally the griffin. The harpy too, of course; who, I have to add, has been looking in high spirits, glowing like the sun. I feel as if our souls have influenced him, as of late._

_The gardens are blooming, too. Isn’t that a strange thing. The newest flowers, in fact, remind me of him..._

_-Your reaper_

 

Gavin wakes with a jolt.

And begins to scramble when the sword against his throat presses deeper. The kings are above him, upset and angry, Jeremy with his sword drawn and brow furrowed. Gavin curses himself, for finding a peaceful rest here‒ Kota had woken him, the next few times, but now he sees her sleeping form in the willow branches above them and makes a quiet noise of upset. Jeremy clears his throat and Gavin’s attention jumps again.

“A spy, perhaps? And here we trusted you,” Jeremy says, and Gavin chokes, opens his mouth to clear himself of any doubt, but Ryan holds up a piece of parchment, yellowed with golden dust coating, and Gavin falls silent again.

“A _copy_ ,” Ryan hums, dark and low, “of the letters I sent Jeremy‒ the ones clearly sealed, and untouched, and _specifically_ made to be unseen by anyone but him or I.”

“Please understand,” Gavin whispers, wary of the blade pressing close. “Please‒ it’s not what you’d assume‒”

“I’d _assume,_ ” Jeremy growls, “that you’re copying this to use against us!”

“No‒ well, not at first‒ I didn’t‒”

“At _first_?” Ryan suddenly roars, and Gavin hiccups in realization. “How long have you lied to us?”

“For as _long as my people have been dying_!” He cries in vengeful frustration, and remembers that he’s _angry_ at these two, despite his lingering love for the both of them, as long as it has lasted, and the two kings pause.

And Gavin begins to push on, and tells them how this comes to be.

 

Gavin is young, and raised by thieves.

His sister is too, of course, but the druids of the forest pick her up and show her their tricks, so Gavin learns forgery and pickpocketing and blending with the shadows. And they _love_ it, but they aren’t old enough to understand it yet.

There is a war coming. And they are meant to fight it.

They two of them are 18 when they learn of it, when they infiltrate the castles as a third party‒ Gavin, a young messenger to the servants between them, Kota, a protector for hire to an advisor and a mage on both sides. Eventually, Gavin meets the _kings_ , and, as he young and vulnerable‒

He loves them. It’s an infatuation and a young crush and he _does_ , and it’s heavy on his heart because he’s a commoner and a third party and their enemy, but in his fantasies, he would still only have to chose _one_.

Kota waxes poetic about the two she’s meant to be guarding, and Gavin lifts love letters from small notes tucked into treaties that will never be put into effect. The two of them curl on separate cots in a tent they share at the edge of the boundary and listen to a war wage around them.

The men they consider their fathers and uncles, killed in a battle between border guards‒ thieves murdered at the crime for their food, orphans abandoned in the winter streets. These are their people, their family, their guild and their kin. Many of the others think of this as treason in the crown’s wake, abandonment from the kings themselves, but the twins _know_ better.

Their family is mad at the kings. Their _people_ are dying.

And Gavin resigns himself to abandoning his childhood love of them (despite the lingering flutter when he interacts, the beating of his heart as they smile and laugh and speak _with_ him instead of _to_ him).

And then he finds the forbidden romance they share, and something flares within him, bright‒ a chance. A way to save what he knows can be.

And Avery leads him _here_.

And now, he thinks, as Ryan holds out a hand in apology, as Jeremy pulls his sword away and mumbles his as well, as Gavin grasps the palm of a king and stands, now they’re _getting_ somewhere.

 

They talk things out, the three of them.

Gavin explains that it had never been about killing them‒ just finding secrets, and weaknesses‒ things, he said, he’s never shared with anyone, save for his twin. Jeremy bristles at that, but Ryan only nods.

“Besides,” Gavin says flushing bright red. “Some of it was less... ah...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Ryan remembers _exactly_ what letters he’s talking about.

Jeremy does too, by the looks of it, and he waves Gavin on.

“I’m sick of people being hurt and dying in a war that isn’t even a _war_ yet,” he mumbles. “But if the price for it to end is the end of you both‒ I could never do that.”

“If our end had to come,” Jeremy says gently, and take’s Gavin’s hand, sending a shudder up the messenger’s‒ the _thief’s_ form. “I would have taken it from you.”

Gavin gapes, but Ryan‒ Ryan understands.

There had been a dance, between the two of them, for quite some time, before they’d met in the gardens and confessed that neither of them _wanted_ to fight.

They’d learned love for each other, slowly, and had expanded their relationship through notes in secret‒ and then the messenger between them had been the same boy, over and over, and eventually. Eventually.

“If you’d have us,” Ryan says now, “we would have you.”

It’s easy to not love someone, really, but something about Gavin had felt right to the both of them. He’d been kind hearted and funny, and sweet, and at times bold to the both of them, teasing them and joking with them as if he’d been of their social status as well, and they hadn’t _minded_. They’d confessed, to each other, that he fit with them, and they’d confessed they’d felt lacking as well.

Gavin gapes, for a small while, and then starts laughing to himself.

The three of them are laughing for a few minutes, actually. And then they sit together on a bench, Gavin between two kings, and talk quietly under the stars surrounded by the flowers.

 

_My reaper and my phoenix,_

_Few things are easy, and secret romances are as hard as they come. In the coming days, or weeks, or months, I pray for the acceptance of a treaty on both of our sides‒ all of our sides. If we can come to an understanding, then the quicker we can come to the rest of everyone as all three of us. Is it dangerous of me to hope those who do not understand would simply..._

_Maybe it is too dark of me to say my thoughts aloud. My loves, Istus keeps us tied in a wonderful painting. Someday we will share our bed of three, and wear rings of silver to match. Although you, our phoenix, deserve the gold you have never had. In time, it may mean more to give that to you._

_-Your dragon_

 

The magic of the garden is old, untouched and ancient‒ a soulbound magic, a fateful one, that strings itself along destiny’s whims and ties little knots in people’s strings. The flowers are key, they know now, as Gavin has done the research. Blue, forget me nots and morning glories for Ryan. Purple lilac and wisteria for Jeremy.

Roses, of course, for each, thorny bushes creating those thick natural walls, glowing buds and petals and that eerie sense of calm to be cast around the secret place. It was _their_ space, and before Gavin, it had felt empty and cold, at times, despite the lavender and bluebells that had bloomed when they’d pressed into tight embraces.

But lately‒

Lately, they’d seen peonies and daffodils growing among the stone benches, in the cracks of the dried fountain. And they’d felt secure again, with Gavin curled between them, pressing kisses to their cheeks under the garden’s leaves and slipping into their beds when they were separated in their castles. And they’d all felt complete and secure again, that gentle warmth in the yellow gold petals that drifted around in harmony. Two was unbalanced, but three was the key.

And now, Jeremy sees.

Marigolds at his feet, sprouting from under his hands as vines crawl and pull him to the ground, with untouchable golden roses on the buds of the thorns, glowing and twisting their way between the blue and violet.

Their messenger, their thief and spy, their newest love, sleeps soundly in the a bed of flowers that signify a single truth‒

How _much_ they love him, their little commoner, their runaway.

They’re being punished for it.

His twin is slipping down from her perch in the willow tree and walking through the weeping leaves, and they turn to her in horror at the red carnations blooming from the open tear in Gavin’s shirt.

“They found him,” she whispers shakily. “Sleeping in your beds, individually, wrapped in the scarves and silks of your colors, blessed by the _both of you_ ‒ a sign that not only have you loved him, but that you have loved each other.”

The beat of horse hooves echo down the matted earth and the kings turn toward the approaching party‒ Avery and Grace skid close, out of breath, and Grace stares down at the both of them with desperation.

“They’re _coming_ ,” she says, out of breath. “They’re coming!”

“We need to get into the castle,” Avery says calmly, slipping down from the horse. The way they grab Grace around the waist doesn’t go unnoticed, but Gavin’s twin is the only one who reacts, flushing and looking towards her brother. “It’s protected by magic‒ they won’t get past the garden’s labyrinth.”

“Castle?” Ryan says in confusion, voicing Jeremy’s thoughts perfectly. “This is‒”

“The ruins of the third kingdom’s garden,” Avery says, humor coloring their voice. “Don’t tell me you didn’t _know_ that.”

Jeremy wants to ask what that means, but instead he asks: “How are we so sure we won’t get lost in the maze as well?”

“Easy,” Grace says now, and goes to help pick Gavin up, gently. “We have the heirs to the kingdom with us. The last blood of this magic.”

The kings blink, slow, and turn to where red petals are falling away from Gavin’s chest to reveal a healed, white pink scar. He’s sleeping soundly, but his twin, kneeling by the rose bushes, is sprouting black eyed susans at her feet and acacias among the willow leaves in her hair.

“Oh,” she says, blowing yellow petals into the air.

“Huh,” Jeremy says with as much eloquence as he can.

 

The trip into the castle is quicker than it seems, if not suspenseful.

They can hear the guards behind them, clambering and loud, echoing into the night among the flora. But Gavin’s breathing is less and less shallow, and his twin‒ Kota, Jeremy hears Grace call her‒ is fast in her reactions, using druid magic to cast new walls of roses in the path behind them as they rush forward.

The looming ruins are more visible now, beyond the overgrown willows, and Jeremy can see that this was, once, a mystical palace, as large as his or Ryan’s own, with stained windows and old, mossy stone. As they breach into the courtyard, past the garden’s maze at last, they spy the doors, heavy oakwood with messy vines crawling up and down the grains. They’re cracked, and Jeremy and Ryan work together to push them open even further. Kota goes first, carrying Gavin on her back, and the rest of them follow.

The doors slam shut behind them, and for a second they are locked in darkness, and the sounds of the guards fade away into the night.

And then, light.

The old torches along the wall brighten slowly, ethereal and green, and cast the hall into a strange coloring. The main area they’re in is still somewhat dark, but they see, to the side, the lights continue, down the hall, around the corner, presumably to the stairs.

They follow the lit torches up, exploring parts of the abandoned castle as they go‒ torn, leaf green tapestries adorned with golden roses as coats of arms, cracked glass with vines over the outside panes looking over the druid made labyrinth, rooms after rooms with their heavy doors shut.

“What is this?” Jeremy asks into the eerie quiet, and Grace sighs.

“It happened when you were young‒ we were all young, really. None of us can really remember it, because the elders didn’t want us to. But there were _three_ kingdoms, before. The North, and South, and the Forest.”

“That’s not a direction,” Ryan mumbles quietly, and Avery glances at him with an eyebrow raised. He shrugs, but Grace seems to ignore him.

“The tensions between the kingdoms were strained even then, but the North and South despised the Forest most of all, for their power over the nature they’d settled in. The druids were powerful than most mages, and the two kingdoms knew that if it came down to it, there would be a war, and both of them would lose. But they had no rightful reason to attack. Until a Northern soldier fell in love with a druid.”

“That was a _reason_?” Ryan hisses, and Grace nods.

“The druid was a royal, in this castle, and the soldier was close to royalty himself‒ the advisors in the North convinced the king that the druid would taint the soldier, and in turn, the soldier would taint the prince and princess with dark magic.”

“Actually,” Avery says, “I think you _may_ have that wrong‒ it wasn’t a soldier. It was a scholar. A teacher‒ your teacher,” they say, glancing again to Ryan, who jolts.

“This was‒ that soon?”

“The destruction of the third kingdom happened just before Heir Dia’s birth,” Avery shrugs. “It’s a terrible thought, to know that. But the third kingdom was left with two heirs of its own, born of the druid and scholar, and brought to the camps of refugees from the war, when they were very young.”

Kota pauses in front of one of the doors, parted open, and pushes through.

She sets Gavin down on the bed‒ four poster, not dusty, despite the obvious abandonment throughout the rest of the room, and lays down next to him, curled up and tired.

The both of them still have golden petals in their hair, and they look very, very small.

The kings and their companions step out of the room, and Jeremy closes the door behind them. “We can’t go back,” he says into the silence. “They _know_ now. How can we go back?”

“You two... don’t, I think. _We_ can go back‒ Dia will have taken the throne by now, but I’m not sure about Jeremy’s kingdom.”

“The throne falls to the highest placed advisor,” Jeremy says, pulling his cloak closer. “That’d be you, Grace.”

The young advisor blinks in shock. “You named me‒”

“You’re the only one who’s ever been truthful about the war, and the citizen’s response to _anything_. Of course you’re the highest place, the others are, well. You seen what happens when they’re on their own for even just a day.”

“It had to be so difficult, didn’t it?” Ryan mumbled, tugging Jeremy close.

“If love was simple,” Avery said, grasping Grace’s hand, “then the truest love wouldn’t be so special.”

 

_Gavin’s running in the throne room, bright and beautiful in the morning light as the sun hits the glass of the ceiling‒ he stumbles, but Mum’s there to catch him and lift him into the sky._

_It’s blurry. He can’t see her too well. He wonders where Da is‒ he misses Kota, too._

_Something changes. Mum’s face is wet. It’s dark, but it’s loud. There are flowers covering him. Kota’s there now._

_“I love you,” Mum keeps saying. “I love you, I love you both so much.”_

_It changes again._

_Gavin needs to sit still on Mum’s lap while the man looks at them all. He’s hungry and he’s tired and he has to move. Mum keeps petting his hair, though, and promising him they’re almost done._

_It changes again._

_Gavin shares a room with his sister and a caretaker, and he curls as they sleep back to back. The caretaker is at the door‒ he’s young-ish, with dark hair, and pretty eyes._

_He follows them into the forest when the castle is being destroyed.'_

 

“Hey Gavin,” Kota says gently into the darkness of the night.

“Hey Kota,” he says quietly back.

“We may or may not be royalty.”

They’ve snuck out into the main throne room‒ the kings and their company are asleep in their own beds across the hall. The stone and wood don’t creak as they pass down the hall and stairs.

“I think‒” he says, and looks up at the tapestry above the thrones. The king and queen are smiling, if not a little sadly, but they have a child in each of their laps, one pensive and one a little impatient looking. A pretty golden thread has been used for their hair, a beautiful forest green for their eyes. With the dust, and the age, the colors have mottled. Gavin thinks it looks a lot like his hair and eyes do now. “I think you might be right.”

 

Avery and Grace seperate off to the kingdoms in the morning, nodding each to their kings.

“Our plan is,” Grace says to them as they prepare, “I take Jeremy’s place, of course, but Dia takes Ryan’s. And we announce the peace.”

“The advisors?” Jeremy asks. He holds Ryan’s hand. Ryan is holding Gavin’s, and Gavin leans into his shoulder, exhausted and worried. His hair is brighter. His eyes are brighter. His sister plays with rosebuds.

“If they don’t like it, we’ll drive them out. It’s hard to ignore a marriage, anyways.”

Ryan blinks, slow and shocked. “You’re marrying my sister?”

“We’ve been courting her for some time,” Avery says, jumping into their saddle. “Shockingly, you haven’t been paying much attention.”

“Forbidden and forbidden and forbidden,” Gavin mumbles, and Ryan is startled into a laugh.

“Well enough, then,” Ryan says, and places his hand over Avery’s. “Be careful.”

“Be safe,” Jeremy tells Grace, who nods.

The two of them split off, and the kings and heirs are left standing at the entrance to the maze garden under the weeping willows.

Kota tugs gently at her cloak, and then turns away. “You deserve... a moment to talk,” she says, and disappears into the bushes again.

Jeremy presses closer to the two of them once she’s out of sight. Gavin flushes.

“I’m sorry we brought you into this,” Jeremy tells him, bringing his hands up to his face and his thumbs over Gavin’s cheeks.

“I’m not,” Gavin says, putting his hand over Jeremy’s. “I‒ needed to know this. I would find out somehow, I’m sure. My caretaker from when I was a baby ended up the leader of the thieves I grew up with. He would have told me.”

“I’m sure,” Ryan murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Gavin’s head.

“What will you two do now?”

“I was thinking,” Jeremy tells him, “we could just... stay with you. We can’t go back to our kingdoms, it’d cause bigger riots than our relationship would have. We’ve already no doubt been declared dead by the advisor in standing charge. And, well, try as Grace and Dia may, you can’t go and suddenly tell the world someone _isn’t_ dead.”

“Well, you _could_. It’d just cause an uproar,” Ryan adds, and Gavin laughs, pressing his face into Ryan’s shoulder.

“I’d like you to stay with me, but... as soon as this castle is discovered, I don’t think I could rule it.”

“That’s fine too,” Ryan says as Jeremy presses closer still. “I’m sure your sister would be okay.”

“Oh, she’d be more than okay,” Gavin mutters, muffled by cloth, and the kings beside him laugh.

“I think we’ll be okay too.”

 

_My reaper and my dragon,_

_The siren is fine, as far as I can tell. She took the news easily and in great stride, placing the gold around her head and telling me it fit perfectly. In a few weeks, the home will be finished again, and the pathway to the gardens cleared and clean. The current rulers have openly announced their engagement, and the advisors have been sent on their way. We’ve opened our home to our family, as well, and just beyond the edge of the forest they’ve set their camp and build their villages. How strange. To have a village, now._

_We’re invited to live there. There’s a cabin near the edge, big enough for three‒ or more, if you’re both willing. No one would bother us but the siren, the griffin, mockingbirds, and perhaps the merchild, as well. Even then, I’m sure the interruptions would be limited. We’d be ourselves, at home, with each other and only each other‒ no gold, no public, no attention. Just us, for once, together where we should have been._

_The church for Istus is being built now‒ let’s go in the gardens, as soon as you receive this in the camps. You’ll find something waiting that I think is long overdue for the both of you._

_Quite kindly, and with love for you always,_

_Your phoenix_

 

The flowers are blooming; purple, blue, and gold.

**Author's Note:**

> there will be... small epilogue for the sis when i get to it ovo


End file.
